


Robert Monaghan

by TintinnabulousRunes



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: Robert Monaghan considered himself an honest man. A straightforward man. He did not consider himself a good man, because he thought there was no such thing.A character study of Higgs' Uncle.
Kudos: 7





	Robert Monaghan

Robert Monaghan considered himself an honest man. A straightforward man. He did not consider himself a good man, because he thought there was no such thing. 

He'd grown up in Dallas before moving down to Houston chasing oil money. He looked for any kind of refinery work he could get as a sixteen-year-old runaway. A man could make a solid living doing honest work out there. He discovered he had a knack for pipe welding. Self-taught and self-made, he got himself his own machine. He kitted up a truck and took to the pipelines further afield. It was good work and much of the time it was just him, his truck, and the vast expanse of west Texas.

At the time, he found it only fitting. There he was, with his GED and sealed juvie record, pulling in six-figures, while his baby sister got her fancy master's degree in physics and ended up working at Starbucks. He'd tried to not be smug about it. It was just how their folks had always made such a big deal about "Izzie and her 1st place science fair project" and "Izzie and her summer science camp" and "Isabelle and her full ride scholarship to the University of Chicago."

But when their dad got laid off, who was it that paid the rent? When mom fell and broke her hip, who paid for the surgery? Who, when the first explosion ripped a hole in the middle of America, got a bunker up in the panhandle? Not Isabelle. Not straight-A-honor-roll-Rhodes-scholar Isabelle. But good-for-nothing-delinquent Robert. That was who!

Robert had been skeptical about the whole conventional explosion deal. The terrorist attack angle didn't sit well with him. Explosives didn't do whatever it was that turned that hospital into a crater. For one, where was most of the rubble? The crater looked like someone had taken a scoop out of the Earth, not blasted a hole in it. There was a conspiracy going on. Always was. That was why a man could only rely on himself.

When Manhattan was wiped off the face of the Earth, Robert felt vindicated, sitting down in his bunker, safe from all the bullshit on the surface. He was ready, too, for when mom, dad, and Izzie would show up. It would have been cramped, but they would have made it work. He'd set it up for that. Because that was what a man did. A man provided.

Izzie showed up alone. Their folks dead in an explosion that had destroyed most of Dallas. But that was life, wasn't it? Disappointment and tragedy.

Despite all of their differences, Robert and Isabelle did love each other. Not only were they family, suddenly they were all the other one had left. Robert may not have understood all her science talk, or her Shakespeare junk, but she didn't understand the difference between stick welding and TIG welding, so it made them even.

They had a shared love of the Dallas Cowboys, MMA tournaments, and American Ninja Warrior. Isabelle tolerated Robert's love of first-person shooters. Robert tolerated Isabelle's love of cheesy chick flick romance movies. And no, he did not cry during the Notebook, thank you very fucking much.

As much as Robert was loathed to admit it, no man was an island. There were simply things he needed that he couldn't make with his own two hands.

In the beginning, most of what he needed was information. The television had stopped working first, as well as quite a few of the radio stations, and it was Isabelle who made the connection that anything satellite based had ceased functioning.

Most preppers had at least one form of radio and before long something like a telephone tree was set up. Robert didn't like to mess with it, but Isabelle was happy to spend much of her time talking with people, gathering and passing out information. They received fragmented public service announcements from the hemorrhaging state and federal governments that spoke of Beached Things and timefall. Voidout was the biggest buzzword, the chosen term for the explosions that were destroying city after city, leaving only craters in their wake.

They heard a man die over the radio. His shelter, not a proper bunker, had gotten eaten away by the timefall rain and collapsed on him. Then the rain had taken him.

After the information, the next thing they needed was a new plan to get food. Robert originally had planned for a greenhouse to supplement the various dry bulk goods, MREs, and canned goods he had stored. He had gone so far as to get the parts for a watering system and plenty of seeds. The plan got put on hold because the rain was some kind of... super acid? Whatever it was, it would make building anything on the surface next to impossible.

Isabelle knew about hydroponics systems, thanks to some unspecified activities in college. That, coupled with a few conversations with others over the radio, resulted in one of the storage closets being turned into a vertical garden. The fresh leafy greens were rabbit food as far as Robert was concerned, and he'd prefer to eat a rabbit, but he ate them anyways.

The fresh food also served as a tentative trade good. Robert did not want much to do with people and wanted even less to do with the outside. One guy, Jasper, started offering to make runs between people's shelters and bunkers in exchange for a small cut of the goods. Robert did not want anyone to know where his bunker was. After some wheedling from Isabelle, and her threatening to go make the handoff herself, Robert negotiated a drop-off point and successfully traded three heads of lettuce for a bottle of vodka and two rolls of bandages.

They stuck to trading for the things Robert had not originally been able to stockpile as well as he had liked. Medical supplies were the biggest thing. Especially, as Isabelle pointed out, most medications expired, and it was particularly important to get the things necessary to disinfect wounds for when antibiotics were no longer available.

After medicine, it was ammunition. Killing was a risky prospect, especially with the talk of corpses summoning those BT-demon-things. Still, a man had to be able to protect his home, and from the occasional screams on the radio, it was a necessary thing.

The first year took a lot of adjustment. It was a new way of living. Robert took pride in being as self-sufficient as a man could be. So many folks were still begging for America to save them. He always laughed at that. America had never done shit for no one.

Isabelle got curious quick. She liked to make little jaunts outside. At least she had the common sense to stay away from the rain. Apparently where there was rain, there were those demons.

Robert still wished he had a way to keep Isabelle inside. Wasn't like he could drag her back in. Or lock her in, for that matter, because she'd outsmart him on that real quick.

He still wanted her to stay the fuck inside. There was nothing out there but wasteland. The safest a person could get was underground, either in a bunker or six-feet under. 

By the second year, things had settled out better. Isabelle still made her exploratory jaunts, bundled up in a coat and poncho made from resins others swore up and down were timefall resistant. Isabelle was at least smart enough to never intentionally put that to the test. 

Robert was surprised to learn that folks like Jasper were making a regular business out of running around the countryside. Suicidal idiots the lot of them, as far as he was concerned. Robert was just glad Isabelle never talked about joining them and was always afraid to even mention it in jest in case he accidently put the idea in her head.

There were even the odd rumblings from further out east about some folks trying to rebuild the internet. Or the next best thing, anyways. Robert barely tolerated the radio tree and wanted nothing to do with that nonsense. 

Things began to fall apart when Isabelle started talking to that Leon guy.

He was one of those artsy fellows she tended to like. Had worked for the Cirque du Soleil, whatever that was, before everything went to shit.

Robert had chased off his fair share of good-for-nothings away from Isabelle whenever he had visited home for the holidays. Problem was, he couldn't chase someone off who was living in a bunker somewhere. Couldn't cut off all radio communication, either, because they were trying to trade for one of those new electric bikes that were starting to go around.

At first, Robert wasn't overly worried. It was just when Isabelle started talking about how nice Leon was. How sensitive and funny and smart he was. How his bunker wasn't that far away, less than a day's walk.

Days turned to weeks turned to months and Isabelle was still talking to, and talking about, that Leon guy.

When Robert found she had packed up all her personal belongings, he lost his temper some.

"The fuck do you think you're doin'?"

Isabelle stood by the bunker door. She gave him a look and set her jaw. "I told you last week, Robert. I'm going to Leon's. Weather's clear. It should take me three, four hours."

Okay, maybe she had said something about that. But she couldn't have meant it. "That's nonsense and you know it, Isabelle."

Isabelle folded her arms. "You ain't changing my mind, Robert. You honestly didn't expect me to stay here forever, did you?"

Robert hadn't actually put much thought to that because it had been such a given. Of course, she'd never leave. Why would she?

Isabelle's expression softened a touch. "Look, this isn't good-bye forever. I can still visit. We can still talk on the radio. I just have no plans on staying in this bunker with you until one of us kicks the bucket."

"Bullshit," Robert insisted, taking a step toward her. "You ain't goin' anywhere!"

"You like it or not, I'm still leaving."

Talking wasn't working, so he hit her.

As soon as he did it, he knew, in every fiber of his being, that he would regret it every day for the rest of his life.

It wasn't that hard of a slap; he'd later justify to himself. Nothing to make a big deal over. Just a reminder of how things worked.

That didn't really matter, though.

Isabelle looked at him, stone-faced, and wordlessly picked up her pack. Blood welled up in her split lip and scarlet was already blossoming across her cheek. Robert tried to say something, anything. She just didn't understand his pain.

"You can't leave me, Izzie."

"Watch me, Robert."

With that, she left. The bunker door slammed behind her and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He tore the bunker apart. Breaking furniture and knocking anything in arm's reach off counters and tabletops. Knives clattered to the floor in the kitchen, while dishes broke, and glasses shattered. He took a broken chair leg to the hydroponics system she had so lovingly set up. 

He howled in pain. How dare she leave? After all he'd provided for her. After all he did, she just tossed him to the side.

Among the scattered wreckage, he found an intact bottle of vodka intended for disinfectant. He downed half of it before passing out in what was once the living room.

Robert slowly rebuilt. It gave him something to do at any rate. He never could figure out how to make the hydroponics system work again and was far too proud to admit that.

Isabelle kept in touch, as promised. Robert even answered the radio on occasion. They kept the communications mainly to holidays and birthdays.

Years passed like that.

Robert kept to himself. Other than Isabelle's calls, the most exposure he got from the outside world was watching on the security monitor. He still had his welding gear and would fix the odd thing in exchange for rations, hard liquor, or spare parts he couldn't make himself. He liked fixing things. It made him feel like he had a purpose and he hated that. 

Robert tried his damnedest to quash the part of himself that wanted community. He spent most of his evenings drinking, reminding himself that man was his own keeper. His own blood had abandoned him. He started to spend most of his mornings, days, and nights drinking as well until he found a comfortable level of numbness.

For everyone else, the world ended one chilly November evening. For Robert, it ended on a bright day in July years later.

He didn't know why he answered when Isabelle radioed off schedule. Normally, he wouldn't. He actually hadn't, the past couple of weeks. But at the time of the particular call, he had been sober enough to feel up to talking.

At first, he couldn't make any sense of what Isabelle was even trying to say. Through the stops and starts and hiccupping sobs, he was able to piece together that Leon had died well over a month ago. Not only that, Isabelle had given birth to their son. 

"His name is Higgs. You have to promise me you'll take care of him, Robert. You have to promise me."

A chill ran down Robert's spine. Last time he had heard that tone in Isabelle's voice, she was seventeen and had swallowed damn-near a whole bottle of sleeping pills. He hadn't been able to reach her and had to call 911.

"I'll come get you. Just, you sit your ass down and don't move. Okay?"

"Promise, Robert. You have to promise. You'll take care of my baby. You'll keep him safe."

"Alright, I promise. But you don't move a muscle, hear me? You stay right where you are. Promise me that."

On the other end of the line, the radio clicked off.

Robert ran. No coat, no nothing. He'd barely had the sense to put on shoes.

The bunker was three or fours hours away on a clear day. Robert made it in just over two.

The door was already ajar.

"Isabelle!" Robert called out, getting no reply.

He stepped inside. Still no answer.

"Isabelle!"

Robert barely registered the crying infant laid out on a blanket in the middle of the living room. All he really paid attention to was the fact that Isabelle wasn't there.

"Isabelle!" He called for a third time, fighting the overwhelming panic.

Heading deeper into the bunker, Robert could smell death.

"Izzie?"

In a room that appeared to be for storage or a workshop, he found her. There was enough blood that he didn't have to look closer. Her eyes were already milky white.

Robert stumbled out of the room, keening in pain. Not Izzie. Not his baby sister.

The infant in the living room let out a wail in reply and that got Robert's attention. Robert picked up the crying infant, trying to remember how you were even supposed to hold a baby. Shit, last time he'd done that was when he was six and holding Isabelle for the first time.

"Damn it, Izzie!" He shouted into the emptiness. "What am I supposed to do, huh? What now?"

There was no reply from within the depths of the bunker. There never would be.

"Just you and me," Robert said, looking down at the whimpering infant in his arms. "Far as I'm concerned, from here on out, we're the only people who exist."

Bright blue eyes stared uncomprehendingly back at him. Robert realized he was a daddy now. He was far from ready for it. He would keep the kid safe, though. No matter what it took, no matter the cost. He'd promised, after all. He would keep Higgs safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is naturally named after a physicist.
> 
> Robert is named for Robert Brout, theoretical physicist and co-creator of the Service de Physique Theorique along with Francois Englert.
> 
> Isabelle is named for Isabelle Stone, one of the founding members of the American Physical Society and the first woman in the USA to get a PhD in physics.
> 
> Leon is named for Leon M. Lederman, director of the Fermilab and granter of the nickname "The Goddamn Particle."


End file.
